After we were no longer useful as Naval Shore Fire Control Party, I was transferred to the 19th Corps Headquarters and did guard duty there. I dug foxholes to stay in whenever artillery fire came too close and lay there lots of times, watching our bombers go over. Man! The sky would be chuck-full of them, mostly heading to bomb St. Lô, so that we could finally break out and head toward Paris. From where we were, we could hear the bombs whistle down and land in and around St. Lô. The ground would just tremble. It was quite an experience; but eventually the breakout did come, and the 19th Corps Headquarters kept following along as closely behind the advancing troops as possible.
I remember riding in the back of a big army truck on a dirt road. We were coming to a curve, where the wheels threw dirt and dust out to one side. I noticed a dead German soldier lying there, and his lower half was almost covered with sand and dust thrown from the wheels of the trucks. His face was looking up at the sky, and his eye sockets and mouth were just literally crawling with maggots. It was not a sight that I like to remember. We kept following the head troops for the next several weeks, coming close to Paris at one time.
Late in the summer of 1945, the Germans deployed their so-called secret weapons. Among these were long-range rockets launched from deep in Germany. They rose very high in the sky and fell without warning on the coastal cities of England. Another weapon was one we called the “buzz bomb.” It was shorter range and launched from mobile launch pads close behind enemy lines. An unmanned winged bomb with a motor to propel it, it could be aimed at railroad yards or villages with highway intersections and would carry just enough fuel to get to the target. It was very inaccurate. The noise from the motor would set up a vibration of the tile roofs on sheds and outbuildings that would make a scary rattle. If you heard one, you looked for a hole, a ditch, or a cellar. If the motor stopped, you knew it would hit close by. If the motor was still running when it passed, you breathed a sigh of relief because it had missed you.
During these stressful times, it wasn’t unusual to see small groups of G.I.’s gather together in sheltered spots to dig out their New Testaments or prayer books and engage in Bible studies. The New Testament that I carried was given to my father by his grandmother when he entered the army in World War I. He carried it during his tour of duty, some of which was in the same section of France. He gave it to me when I was drafted in January, 1942; and I carried it during my service in World War II. Years later, I gave that same New Testament to my son, James, to carry into Vietnam. The New Testament returned, but my son gave his life in that war.
I remember riding in the back of a big army truck on a dirt road. We were coming to a curve, where the wheels threw dirt and dust out to one side. I noticed a dead German soldier lying there, and his lower half was almost covered with sand and dust thrown from the wheels of the trucks. His face was looking up at the sky, and his eye sockets and mouth were just literally crawling with maggots. It was not a sight that I like to remember. We kept following the head troops for the next several weeks, coming close to Paris at one time.
Late in the summer of 1945, the Germans deployed their so-called secret weapons. Among these were long-range rockets launched from deep in Germany. They rose very high in the sky and fell without warning on the coastal cities of England. Another weapon was one we called the “buzz bomb.” It was shorter range and launched from mobile launch pads close behind enemy lines. An unmanned winged bomb with a motor to propel it, it could be aimed at railroad yards or villages with highway intersections and would carry just enough fuel to get to the target. It was very inaccurate. The noise from the motor would set up a vibration of the tile roofs on sheds and outbuildings that would make a scary rattle. If you heard one, you looked for a hole, a ditch, or a cellar. If the motor stopped, you knew it would hit close by. If the motor was still running when it passed, you breathed a sigh of relief because it had missed you.
During these stressful times, it wasn’t unusual to see small groups of G.I.’s gather together in sheltered spots to dig out their New Testaments or prayer books and engage in Bible studies. The New Testament that I carried was given to my father by his grandmother when he entered the army in World War I. He carried it during his tour of duty, some of which was in the same section of France. He gave it to me when I was drafted in January, 1942; and I carried it during my service in World War II. Years later, I gave that same New Testament to my son, James, to carry into Vietnam. The New Testament returned, but my son gave his life in that war.
Finally, the Allied troops had broken into Germany; and on October 16th, I was taken to the front lines and put into the 99th Infantry Battalion, a Norwegian-American Ski Troop outfit. They had worked with the British Commandos, so they were similar to the Rangers I had been with. At the time I joined them, they were just outside of Würselen, Germany, located on a highway being used as an escape route by the Germans encircled at Aachen. We were sent to secure the roadway and cut off the escape of the Germans from Aachen. The First Infantry Division was closing in from one side and the 30th Infantry Division from the other. For at least five days, we were constantly under artillery fire, tank fire, mortar fire, and bombing by the Luftwaffe. It was hard to even get warm food. Because of the battle at Würselen, I was recommended for the Combat Infantry Badge.
